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�2006 Candor Communications


2004-08-10 - 7:23 p.m.

366


I sometimes look to numbers for meaning or at least ask myself what a number means... sometimes this inspires me to write and when i write, I am alive... the child inside, I mean... perhaps... so anyway, I look to see there are 366 emails in my "sent" folder on my laptop... the first in the line of 366 has the subject dear peter and was to peter pan @ pixyland... ironic, no doubt, that this would be the first mail I sent from this laptop when I bought it last year... it has been just a few weeks more than a year since I decided to splurge the $100 for this thing and it has serviced me well since it's purchase... thank you laptop...

anyway, of the 366 emails sent, I wonder how many were personal mails to people I knew... not many... and perhaps someday I will break down the number into smaller numbers that might hold more meaning (that is often the way numbers work for me)... at first glance at subjects and email addresses, memory tells me that most of the emails I sent in the past year have been to strangers, many just one time reaching out emails that received no response, some that inspired a few exchanges that ended in not interested, in so many words that might have appeared kinder and gentler on the surface...

once upon a time I kept numberic records, stats, if you like, of how many letters I received and how many I mailed and how many pages I wrote to each person and what inspired what and it gave me some sort of frame of reference to the house of words (garden, I thought it was a garden?) I was building without any schematic or blueprint other than a desire to connect and inspire and mean something and leave this world a little better of for my having been in it or passed through it or whatever it is I am doing here... the person who received the most words does not have an email in my sent folder in the past year because I do not have an email address for her... the same can be said for perhaps eight of the ten who would be on that inspired the most words list in this life... there is, however, in this single past year sent box, one from that top ten list and several from a top twenty list and perhaps a dozen or more from a top one hundred most words inspired list (if I was to compile such a list today)...

and I find, in my rough assessment of the numbers/stats, that there is a direct (or is that indirect, yes, indirect, for the corrolation is inverse) corrolation between the number of words I've sent someone and the number of days since I last heard from them... in other words, the ones who received the most of me in words are the ones I await response from the longest and the ones who reach out to me most today are the ones who await response from me the longest...

that means something, but I am not sure I want to know...

shifting directions slightly in this field of thought, the second email sent from this laptop was to a DLander... I don't know if that was the first email I sent that DLander, but I know it was not the first email I sent to a Dlander, that would go back several years and I'd have to access my old laptop to figure that out and my old laptop has a semi-functional kepboard, no battery power, and a few other obstacles that leave it turned off and gathering dust just to the right on my big green chair where I put it last summer when I got this new old laptop... I have used it a few times, the old friend that served me well since the mid nineties when I spent about $1500 for it (and it, if fixed, might be worth $50 today... inflation and depreciation is the two headed monster that can, at times when the desire for interaction is high, make the socio-economic material world so unpleasant for us who've chosen an existential existence)...

anyway, I sent my words and telephone number to most of the people I sent emails to in the past year... and a few actually called and shared what felt like smiling conversations... not that I expect anyone to call me because I sent a few words of flattery and respect or even because I send (at times) ridiculously personal poetry or prose... it is a very nice (and exciting, when I am awake) surprise when someone does respond to an email (or note or any words I send or leave for someone)...

I think this field of thought may have been entered due to a query someone who is not a DLander (at least not at the moment as far as I know... and I smile as I never thought to ask, huh?) about how much and how I reach out and share these days (which was a query probably mostly inspired by my frequent {are they constant?} whinings about loneliness and hungers for sharing)... and while I can feel an answer (which is basically not nearly as much as I used to, but more often than most people reach out and share, or something like that), the scientist in me is always open to hard data to answer any question... so I looked at my sent folder to see the quantity and nature and quality of the emails I've sent (and have only the past year to review at my fingertips at the moment... which is where we came in to this entry)...

a fair estimate for a ratio of how many email contacts I initiated and how many were responses to others is maybe 30 to 1... for those of you who think I must get swamped by email, this might come as a surprise, but of the communications I've had through email in the past year, the vast majority are contacts I initiated... this is not a wonderful stroke for my ego, but nor is it a blow cuz it's an obvious fact of life for me and even if I avoid it well, I know...

and suddenly, there was this:

for no reason at all aside from the fact that I do, somewhere beneath my sleeping exterior, care about you and want to keep in touch, I send this email...

Hi Nad :)

I have no excuse for not writing since I write constantly (though still rarely send emails)... you, of course, have the good excuse that you seldom write/correspond in written words, but me, I have to hang my head in shame and for flaggelation (a little to the left, please) for staying away from written communications... it is, in large part, due to my fear of being killed again... perhaps that's a dramatic over-exaggeration... slightly...

I was writing yet another long and winding diary entry for one of my long and winding public diaries (reaching out to the online world since 1995, though the date could be changed depending upon the timeline I use) and my roommate (or my roommate's daughter, depending on how I view her, respectfully, please, so I should refer to her as my roommate's teenage daughter, I suppose) came out of her room to sit on the couch and continue a telephone conversation... this broek the silence and shifted my concentration enough to come here to write to you... you might want to thank her, or not, huh? :)

anyway, I was writing an diary entry (as opposed to calling it an essay, I suppose) about how many emails there are in my sent folder (this would be 367) for the past year and pondering making time to sort through them and figure out how many are personal, meaningful, and to whom and why and so on in some (perhaps vain, perhaps healing, perhaps just organizational) sense

of making progress in myself and my world... or at least to see if there's any pattern or direction I might go in and change that might help me get what I want out of life... if that doesn't make sense then, oh well...

anyway, I decided that I'd write to you...

so I did...

how are you?... we should talk more... I should call, huh?... kick me too for my procrastinating hibernative ways... and are you still thinking of relocating?... Orlando is losing it's thrill for me... too much the south... too many shiney happy superficial people... I think I'd like the northwest much better for it's social conscience and down to Earthness, but then, that's mostly hearsay and fantasy and look at where the fantasy of the wonderful world of Disney got me... 15 years outside the mouse house wondering what it takes to get in (metaphor, but living in Orlando has been mostly lonely except for a year or few)...

I don't think I am really ready to relocate yet, but the thought comes up in my mind more often than it used to... the memory of winter usually stops it dead in it's tracks...

I usually learn much about myself from writing letters... different stuff depending on whether I am writing to a stranger (much more introductory ramblings) or a friend (much more aimless babblings with the occasional semi-organized catch-up letter)... I wonder, old friend, what might come of rambling on in words to you... I can trust you not to feel any guilt or imposition cuz I know you don't write and accept that and love you for other reasons (let the public, should my words ever be published in some grand posthumous arts and letters volume, decide just what i mean by that... heck, rumor and innuendo should boost sales and can't hurt the dead, huh? :)

ah, someday my editor will come (you know the song, some hope for a prince)...

I was challenged by someone I never met in the flesh but who calls occasionally... she queried me about how often I reach out, open up, and let people in on a personal, one-to-one basis... after exploring the potential depths of that question for a little while, I sought something concrete (and escape route, perhaps) that lead me to look at my sent folder... and that, as I've said, lead me here... and this, as I've said, is my way of changing my communication process, which is hopefully a good thing...

so when is a good time to call and catch up and stay in touch?...

and how are you, really?

I wanna know :)

share, care, be well, be aware... till tomorrow,

honest love, ric
http://candoor.net
407-325-1482

and I wondered if I was just crazy (open?) enough to just plop it into the middle of this stream of consciousness entry because this entry might actually be the first purely unedited entry I've written here from behind the candoor because usually I will pull rhymes (or even morbidity and excessive depressive whining) out of my ramblings for inclusion in a diary more atuned to rhymes (or morbidity and excessive depressive whining... and while we digress, you've all be told, or warned, about the digressions and many forks in the roads of my web world that starts, for now, here and gets more personal at the back door and window and gets more creative at the front door and everything kind of comes together for a moment of linkage at the crossroads... and I'll leave it for you to find the links that might have been where the italics now stand)...

apparently I was...

my old friend Nad might be staring me down right now, so I apologize if this much exposure is too much, but then, Nad just might be laughing with me at me (hopefully mostly at my candor and less at my pathos) and if the phone rings shortly, I suppose we'll all know...

rarely have a read such a compelling review, which may seem to your naked eyes as a completely unrelated tangent and which could be, to some very heavily clothed eyes, a slap in the face or even a deliberate subversive attempt to get under skin and confront ignorance and stupidity and maybe even the American Way (relocating outside of the continental US?... there's a thought to add to the previous thoughts in the email I just wrote... someday), but what it is not is not what I will give energy to except for this teasing introductory paragraph into what may be a whole new world or at least a toe in the water along a path (which already has a few forks) I've mentioned often and hardly ventured down at all in recent years...

what?...

are you still here?

thank you for that... and well, for you, perhaps a moment passed between the last paragraph and the what?, but for me, it's been a few more moments than a moment... time being relative and all, it might be a lot of moments or days, could be an entirely different lifetime even, but in my time it's actually been a half hour or a little bit more, but not much more...

what happened, you might ask...

well, I was distracted (besides Precious chatting on the phone and asking questions to the air as she's doing her homework {with the friend on the phone} and me filling pregnant pauses with near-answers {near-answers being my way of not doing her homework for her but sending her in the right direction} and somehow I found myself looking through my many links folders for a link for the periodic table of elements cuz I have a good one with many hyperlinks somewhere on this hard drive and I didn't find it but decided I'd take a moment or few to reorganized a couple of folders that connect my writings with the quick launch folder with the desktop to make it easier and quicker to get to files and stuff I want and in doing that {after I was done, I think, and wanted to close the Explorer window I had opened}, Explorer crashed and the little error box would not go away so even though the browser and email program worked, the little error box was in the way so I decided it was time to shut down and reboot but I had a bunch of open browser windows waiting for me to either read or do something so I did a bit of reading and left a few notes and bookmarked pages {and amazingly did not get sucked into DLand Drift or the larger more powerful Cyberspace Currents} and so then shut down and rebooted and here we are again) a little...

so where were we?...

ah yes, I was compusing an entry as it appeared in my brain as I related to you some thoughts about a query that lead to some thoughts about the nature of my sharing, especially one-on-one sharings and more intimate communications, that lead to some thoughts about email correspondence that lead to a cursory analysis of numbers in search of more concrete data that lead to the start of this entry that lead to a slightly more organized approach to the sent folder analysis that lead to writing an extremely brief email to an old friend that lead to a moment of pondering the nature of my sharing online that lead to a brief review of the entry from the beginning that lead to finding the link that immediately preceded this entry that lead to the paragraph that came just before the what? that came before the paragraph in which I briefly reflected on the nature of time which was followed by an explanation of how and why I was distracted and therein paused this entry just before the what? which lead to me asking where were we? which lead to this paragraph which leads to...

ah, so where were we?...

a'ehm... or a-hem, in English... earlier tonight I sought the help of a translation site (that is part of a great reference site I use rather often now and then, that is, I us it whenever I seek reference that is not a web search, but there might be weeks between my uses of it... not because I have such an amazingly large vocabulary or am a walking encyclopedia, contrary to public opinion {at least around work}, but because I vegetate in my brain a lot more than you might think I do, though why you would think I don't is beyond my humble comprehension unless, of course, I believe in the hype that comes from my own ego... anyway...)... and it was because I wrote something in French during an email (yes, another email... now those of you waiting for me to respond to your emails are hurt or offended or feeling neglected and while you should not hurt yourself over it {and only you can hurt yourself, in case you thought otherwise, but we can debate that another time, maybe} and hopefully you won't create offense where none is intended and you darn well have every right to feel neglected cuz I neglect emailing terribly which is what started this whole field of thought with the query on the telephone yesterday which is why there was no entry yesterday {no worries, I'll remedy that later, ya know}, but hopefully you know that I don't mean you any harm and want to share more but I am bogged down by the demands of paying for survival in this world and also have these obstacles that I don't explain too well except to say Toronto and trust issues and blah blah blah stuff and that is why I so much appreciate the phone call and the prodding that perked up the pondering that lead to the field of thought that brought me to a place where I was open to communicating more and that lead to writing two emails tonight and all this babble in this entry and hopefully you who do reach out to me in spite of my benign neglect can understand the appreciation that words can not express after reading this paragraph and maybe this entry)...

the computers spend an hour a day, each, at least, just downloading and sorting through mail (before I even get to the mail) and yet 99% of it is SPAM, junk, instantly deleted (but it still must be downloaded in order to be filtered so the few mails that matter might be pulled out and I know I lose mail that matters along the way because I mostly reverse-filter, that is, if your email address is not added to my filters, your email gets deleted so if you think maybe that happened to your email cuz we've not yet shared any correspondence or because we've only shared a few emails back and forth and I haven't updated my filters yet, please write and put the number 42 in your subject line or better, leave a note or call so we can be sure your exact email address is added to my email filters so your writing to me in email is not lost in the flood of junk mail I get... heck, it's increased to the rate of a hundred pieces of mail an hour at several of my oldest addresses, including my own domain... frustrating and destructive to communication... enough griping, and distracting... was there ever a primary point to this entry?... I am not sure, so let's continue and find out whatever we find out)...

the other email is not here yet and may not be inserted so suddenly as the one above was because it was written before this entry started (and before that I find the previous entry and notes and links for the Browsings idea and diary) which legally makes it not an edited out thing so I am still rambling continuously here (can rhymes be far away?... not usually, for I seldom write more than a few dozen paragraphs before the rhymes flow cuz I think in rhymes, in case you didn't already know that about me), for what it's worth... besides, I don't know the inspiration for the first email I refer to well enough to know whether she would mind my naming her as inspiration and including the words she inspired verbatim here in this public rambling... even though she deserves all the praise and respect and applause intended (and fantasies too, don't forget the fantasies)...

so why do I mention it?... ah, because of the toe...

huh?...

I mean, if you haven't been following along and do not grasp the reference immediately, that toe in the water along a path (which already has a few forks) I've mentioned often (and mentioned a little while back in this entry) and hardly ventured down at all in recent years... very simply put, it's the path of publishing letters... I used to write letters, one at a time, to specific individual people (before the internet, there was the printer and before the printer, there was the pen and paper) and if you've been reading me a while you know this (heck, I published small magazines for letter writers, remember?... well, I can hope and wish somebody would find me from those days and remember)... and when I started building my written gardens online, letters were part of the sharing... letters to friends and strangers and others and letters more of an general introductory nature were uploaded and left out there for anyone to read... but it has been years since I added one except for the few that pop into diary entries... and I'm thinking about doing it again...

what?... upload letters?... well, I'd have to actually start writing letters again in that case, now wouldn't I?... I mean, these diary entries are letters of a sort... letters to myself and to the world in general and in parts, to specific people and groups of people like old friends and/or emailers and/or noters, readers, strangers, fantasies, and new friends... but these diary entries are rarely specifically intended for one individual (even when one or a few are inspired by a specific person, as happens on Planet candora more often than here)... and even the letters I've written in the past year or two have to be considered generic as we barely know real intimate points of reference to give us specific individuality for each other (though you, dear readers and potential correspondents, may have an advantage there in that you know a lot more about me than I do about you)...

I did create a journal space just for letters some time in 2000 or 2001 when she who lives life offline now inspired a flood of words, but I never got around to deciding how I should edit them (if I should edit them) and which of them should be uploaded (and how to present them and so on)... and the idea of sharing letters again creeps out of the back of my mind just about every time I write an email... and that probably creates a deterrent for people to write to me cuz you probably wonder if our correspondence is going to end up in some self-published book or magazine or online... well, privacy is yours and I don't take it without permission, so your words are rarely quoted without asking... but my words (whether you inspire them or not) are mine to give away as I please and if we can understand these simple (and hopefully clear cut) guidelines I use when deciding if I am going to put one of my letters online, well, then we'll all get along (hey, I'm a dreamer, ya know?)...

in case you wonder why I might want to put letters I write online, it's not all ego trip (though a writer's ego loves strokes even if that writer is just a rambling babbler like me), it is a love story... well, sort of... thing is, it has yet to be written... see, besides wanting ego strokes and my determination to save the world, I'd like to find the right partner in life and part of that partnership (as I see it for her to be right for me) is collaborative writings that would include letters to each other and writings inspired by each other... a legacy of our love affair in words for all to read, sweet?...

and so every time I write a letter so someone (especially the fantasies), I want my partner to be able to read it and how will she ever read it if she isn't here or if the words are not somewhere she might find them... and here we are on the internet, public publishing made cheap and easy...

understand?...

well, I'm getting hungry so I hope you do cuz I'm running out of whatever it was I came here to say today and I think it's time to let a distraction happen... so I listen to Precious tell me about midieval European history (she switched from chemistry to history) and then she goes to bed and I turn on the TV and find The X-Files and Rasputin wakes and comes out for a few and I ponder what to cook for dinner cuz, yes, I have the night off... yay for nights off... and so, I may continue this tomorrow (or yesterday, since I skipped yesterday)...

besides, there's 367 emails in the sent folder now, so this entry has already fallen behind the times and the numerology I might have pondered at the start is a distant memory... still, I want to do something with those sent emails, if only to know who they went to and why and what happened and where to go from here...

and what are you doing (have you done) with your evening?...






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